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Genevieve Oullet

"That's going to cost you a pretty penny."

0 · 358 views · located in Ter'Ciel

a character in “Eulogy for the Immortal”, as played by CloakedSchemer

Description

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Name: Genevieve Oullet

Nickname: “I prefer Genevieve thank you.”

Age: 23

Gender: Female

Height: 5'5

Weight: 110 pounds

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Allies/Friends: Witches of the Lower Quarter. Witches of The Wilds.

Enemies: Belial Sect, an anti-magic group that uses magical artifacts to torture witches for research purposes.





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Background of Magic: In the world of Ter'Cian magic is commonplace among those that are witches or warlocks. When the gods were reincarnated as humans, the remnants of their power was also sent into the very earth, and nature used it to give birth to humans with the aptitude to harness this power. To keep this power balanced, witches serve nature and only seek to keep life as in balance as they can, without the gods iron fist ruling over each facet of the planet. But as the witches were still human, some bent to greed, others to sheer power, and most were persecuted by those who did not understand them. Nowadays, witches fall into three categories: witches who serve royalty or political figures, witches who live or travel alone and barter spellcraft with people who wish them to perform tasks, and witches who live in covens, or large groups of witches mostly found in wilderness areas or small villages.

There are three major forms of magic:

Spirit Magic: The user harnesses the power of naturally recurring elements and/or the spirits of witch ancestors in order to cast spells. Power output is relative to the power of the witch who cast it and the element that the witch is using. Spirit Magic may NEVER defy laws of nature such as granting immortality or bring the dead back to life.

Dark Magic: Magic that also harnesses the power of naturally recurring elements but normally goes against the laws of nature. There is always a price to play for these spells whether it be a life for a life, or some other more complicated necessity. If the spell is completed without proper payment to the spirits, they shall impose consequences far harsher on the witch who cast it.

Expression Magic: Magic that directly uses the life force and power of the witch who cast it. While powerful, this magic in excess use will kill the user, and is often revered as forbidden magic as it is abusing the power that was granted to them by the gods and forsaking the spirits that give them life.


Abilities: Genevieve is a witch of a long, rich bloodline of witches. She is well versed in spirit magic after having been given her grandmother's grimoire on her 16th birthday after she passed away. She has dabbled in some dark magic but she does so carefully. She has never practiced expression magic, although her family has a history with its use, as it killed her mother. She is not a melee fighter by any means, however in pure potential and force, she is almost unstoppable. Preparation, wit, and knowledge are what will see her through conflict.

Personality: Being a gorgeous, young, powerful witch Genevieve uses every one of these assets to stay alive. She doesn't fool easily and is always looking out for her own survival. In a world where her people can be persecuted for bringing too much attention to themselves, she always acts inconspicuously and always a step ahead of her enemies. That being said, she is no angel, and does not hesitate in participating in illegal activities if the coin and motive is right. She has even hexed a few individuals, causing them to go mad and murder themselves or others. She always packs up shop and leaves after an episode like that. Her tongue is sharp, but she is polite to most at first meet. She is the snake that hides underneath the blooming flower, and many would do well to remember it.
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Likes: 
+ Money
+ Men
+ Rain

Dislikes:
- Harsh Sun
- Nobility
- Violence

Fears:
x  Being Persecuted x
x  The Gods x
x  Claustrophobic x

Talents:
o Spellcraft o
o Flirting o
o Chess o

Flaws:
= Overconfidence =
=  Binge Drinker =





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Bio: Genevieve was born to a mother and grandmother that loved her dearly, and would do anything to protect her. And they did. She was born during a time when their coven, called the Rain Fallers, were rising to power, with her mother at the helm. She was using expression magic to do it, becoming a ruler of the lower covens, and assimilating them into the Rain Fallers. Her grandmother, Yvette, did not approve of this and became Genevieve's regular caregiver. Her father was not a warlock, so she never knew who he was.

Expression magic normally kills the user very quickly upon its use, however Genevieve's ancestors are from the original line of witches, and her mother was drawing on the power of the original witch, Ester, in order to carry out her powerful magic. When Genevieve was ten years old, the nearby city-state of Aquios attacked the Rain Fallers, and war raged for several weeks.

When the dust settled the Aquios army, what little was left of them, were victorious and the coven was razed to ashes. This was caused by Genevieve's own mother, who used the last of her power to incinerate anyone who was still left within the village, and caused her death.

Yvette had taken Genevieve away from the fighting within the first week of the attack, and she raised her for the next six years until at the age of 92, she passed. In her will, she left Genevieve her grimoire, and this tome was no ordinary grimoire, but one of their ancestor Ester. The sheer knowledge and power contained in its pages was overwhelming, but after seeing the errors her mother made Genevieve only decided to keep the book for her own study.

Seven years have passed and Genevieve now finds herself living in the lower quarter of the capital of Tar'Cien. She has made quite a name for herself as a witch for hire, and she runs a lucrative shop. It has been about one month since the rumors have started to circulate about a cult group that has been spotted near the city's lower quarter. Genevieve takes little interest in gossip, but she always keeps an ear to the ground for such things, and this definitely has the local witches spooked. Something will tip the balance in someone's favor soon, and Genevieve will make sure that it is within hers.





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So begins...

Genevieve Oullet's Story

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Character Portrait: Genevieve Oullet
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Prologue


Stars shone brightly in the clear black night casting a soft glow upon the world below. The royal palace of Airyglyph was lit up with its own lights, needing no aid from the natural brilliance that was this beautiful night sky. An orchestra played from within the castle, only a small din could be heard from the balcony where she stood, but to her ears it was soothing and beautiful. The balcony was overlooking the impressively vast courtyard, a large fountain stationed in the center of it, its water reflecting the silver light of the moon, giving the effect of silver pouring from the top of the fountain into a pool of tranquility. Flowers of every kind were strewn about the area, filling the air with a mildly sweet aroma pleasing to her. It was preferred over the smell of smoke that escaped the large glass door left ajar behind her leading back into the ballroom. So while she could, she breathed deeply, allowing her lungs to fill with the brisk night air and the flowers beneath her.

As beautiful as the scenery was, the flowers looked withered and the moon was rusted in compared to the delicate woman that stood placidly on the balcony of the royal palace of Airyglyph. Her skin was as light and smooth as porcelain, her hair darker than a starless sky, her lips a full red, and her eyes a vibrant emerald. Her hair cascaded behind her in locks of darkness, silky and shiny against her back. Her dress was the color of a raven. It clung tightly to her bosom with no straps to mar her shoulders and flowed to the ground, spilling out to trail behind her. In this moment, she was gathering herself. Allowing herself to enjoy the simplicity of nature, before she would have to return to the party within. But Genevieve wished of a time where she would have been able to stand outside forever, and forget the harsh reality she lived in now.

In truth, this was a tragically boring affair for her, and worse yet, it made her miserable to partake in these political events. But to everyone observing her, she would appear the as the most rapt political socialite there ever was. Maybe it is actually scarier to her to think that being one of these people was actually her true nature coming to the surface, because she was so good at it. Lying, deceiving, grifting, and faking had become all too easy for her. It had only been three months since she was really thrust into the inner circle of the politically powerful and blood thirsty socialites. But she adapted quickly, and soon she was loved, or detested, by everyone.

Soft footsteps could be heard behind her and they grew louder, but she did not turn to face who was coming. She already knew the answer to that anyway. The pretentious click of her overly high heels were recognizable in a dead sleep. “Why Genevieve there you are. We were about to send a search party looking for our little life of the party.” The sickeningly sweet voice of Lydia Renese was like nails on a chalkboard to Genevieve. But she simply rolled her eyes and turned around with a smile.

“Oh, I’m so sorry Lydia. I just had to get some fresh air and see the courtyard, it is such a beautiful night tonight I didn’t want to waste it,” she responded just as sweetly as Lydia. Lydia’s smile was like watching a hyena laugh hysterically before clamping its jaws around your throat. Lydia was the queen bee of the socialites. She wasn’t the actual queen. The royal family is purely figureheads. The real power was held by the city’s High Council: nine individuals who convened to decide the fate of Tar’Cien. Four of them were elected officials from the people of Airyglyph that serve the council until they step down from their post, are relieved by the king, or die. Three of them are magistrates, determined by the bloodline of the three other founding families of the original city-state of Airyglyph: the Renese, the Graysons, and the Tamlocks. The last two were appointed by the king, the captain of the Royal Guard, and the court magician and tactical advisor to the king. Both of these positions are really handpicked by the three magistrates of the council, so that when votes were needed, they knew they had the other two votes in their pocket.

Lydia Renese was the forty-something, overly-controlling wife of Magistrate Collin Renese, and the real voice of her husband on the council. Nothing happened in this city without her knowing about it, and you did not want to make an enemy of her. Genevieve was sure that Lydia hated her very existence let alone her presence at these monthly galas.

“Oh dear, it is beautiful outside. But let’s get you back to the party, we wouldn’t want you catching a cold with how exposed your upper body is.” Her words were icier than any chill the night air could bring.

Genevieve took a few steps forward, “Don’t worry so much about my health Lydia. You’re looking a little worse for wear lately, breathe deep, the fresh air could do you some good.” Before Genevieve could leave the balcony Lydia took a step in front of her.

“Don’t think just because you’re the new flavor of the month that you can do whatever you want. We still have rules here. And if you don’t deliver on your promise by the end of this month, well, I don’t have to remind you of the consequences.” .

“Of course Lydia. Now if you’ll excuse me, your husband is waiting for me.” And with that Genevieve walked off and cursed her luck for finding herself within the heart of the beast. But, it was she who had made a deal with the devil.

THREE MONTHS EARLIER

The lower quarter was mostly quiet by this time of night. It was almost midnight and people had cleared the streets, and only the homeless or the crooked still wandered the streets. Genevieve had closed up shop about three hours ago and was muddling some herbs together for a woman to pick up tomorrow. It was a long and hot day. Things had been extremely slow for Genevieve the past couple of months, and she had to start peddling some herbs and other trinkets with the rest of the market stands to reach ends meet.

The shop door had three loud knocks against it, and Genevieve simply called over her shoulder, “We’re closed. Come back tomorrow,” in a tired voice. The small wooden door weathered a few more bangs until finally in came directly off of the hinges and two men in large black cloaks entered the small cramped room. “Phasmatos entreebum enracktan vinsindee.” The candles that lit around the room incensed until the flames licked the walls and then suddenly vanished. A line of salt mixed with sage that encased the foyer crackled to life, and the sage burned up, releasing small wisps of black smoke. Geneveive had set this up for just such an occasion. The two men fell to their knees, grasping at their throats, as if they were choking on the very air at which they breathed. Genevieve had cast a spell that vacuumed out the oxygen in the front of the room. Anyone caught within the doorway and the front table had nothing to breathe but dead space.

“That’s enough. Is that any way to greet your guests?” That was the first time she had ever laid eyes on Lydia, and she was instantly repulsed by her sickly sweet smile. “If you’d be so kind as to release you hold on these men. I assure you they’re only here as a precautionary measure.”

“Then you would understand that it is only precautionary that intruders in my home are not allowed to simply do as they please. Moit.” And with a cool rush of wind, air returned. But the men were long unconscious from their ordeal. Now it was only Genevieve and Lydia that stood in the dark night. “Well, aren’t you going to tell me what the esteemed Lydia Renese is doing in the lower quarter, near midnight, at a local witch shop? Or are you just here for idle conversation?”

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “I wouldn’t be caught in these deplorable shops unless I had urgent business with the proprietor. That would be you, my dear Genevieve. The high council has need of your assistance.”

“They must be sorely desperate for my specific aid to send the wife of one of its members at such a dangerous hour. And so, underprotected,” she taunted, glancing at the crumpled bodies on the floor. “I also doubt that the high council would send you at all. They like to make things all showy with public envoys and official correspondence. So let’s not waste each other’s time at this late hour.”

“Very well. I am not here in official capacity. A select group of council members wish for a group of people from around Tar’Cien to be summoned to the capital building for…questioning. Unfortunately, we do not have enough people in favor of this decision to even bring it before the council, let alone ask the court magician Vincent to perform the task. But this matter is of grave importance to all of Tar’Cien, and we cannot afford to bring this up before the council and deliberate for what could be years. So instead, we need a witch with a reputation to complete the summoning spell for us. Which is where you come in. If you complete this for us, you will be handsomely compensated for your efforts. If you refuse…well, it would be quite a shame, for everyone involved.”

Genevieve regarded her with a serious look, never taking her eyes of Lydia as she unraveled her plot in front of her. With careful deliberation on how best to proceed, she spoke, “A summoning spell? Witchcraft doesn’t exactly work like that. We have no way of teleporting people remotely. It’s more sort of a suggestive migration spell. I send them something that points to a location and they get subliminal messages to make the journey. And I would need their name, a strand of hair, or something personal of theirs to send them so it will get to the right person.”

Lydia had moved into the small shack now, stepping over the men on the ground. She reached into a small purse she carried and pulled out a small pinion and placed it on the table. “Will this do? It is an heirloom that they all would recognize.” It was a small round bronze pinion, rusted in the corners but otherwise intact. It looked ancient, and it had a single symbol on the front. It was an old symbol that used to be worn by priests of Temples to the Gods. This particular one was from a small village on the outskirts of Airyglyph called Kirlsa, denoted by the background crimson color of the pinion. Each region had their own color to the pinions to differentiate where people hailed from. They had not been used in hundreds of years.

“If you think it will reach them I can try. But, we’ll have some terms to this agreement. I want two million zen. One million up front and another after they show up in Kirlsa. And I want you to induct me into your social circle.”

“Absolutely not. What need could you possibly have with the nobility of this city?”

“That’s my business. But those are my terms. Refuse, and I’ll make sure that the high council hears about how the esteemed wife of a magistrate came to me in the dead of night and asked me to perform a summoning of a group of individuals, and hid it from the rest of the council. And if this pinion happens to fall into their hands as proof, then so much the better.”


Lydia looked as if she was about to either pounce on Genevieve with a feral scream or faint from her sheer audacity. “Very well then. You will have your money and your money and your social status. But I promise you, if they are not here by the next solstice, about four months from now, you won’t be able to practice magic out of a cardboard box let alone this run down little shop. Do we have an understanding?”

“Of course we do. Now, have the money here tomorrow night and I will perform the spell.”

“Until then.”
Lydia exited the shop with haste.

“You forgot your garbage,” Genevieve called after her. Genevieve walked over, kicking the bodies of the men to rouse them as she did, and they left with just as much urgency.

The next night when Lydia came knocking the door was already open, and candles were strewn about the room, Genevieve kneeling in the middle of the room. On the table was one large candle, the pinion, and a knife. Genevieve picked up the knife and ran the length of it across her palm, making a shallow wound. She then picked up the pinion in her now bloody hand and held it above the fire, clenching her fist tightly. “Phesmastos vanex, ondi mox, fero audeo!” As a single drop of blood trickled into the flame, it roared to life, wind howled and swirled about the room, and her hand was completely encased in bright oranges and reds. It held for a few moments before as suddenly as it started, it stopped. And the world returned to normal. But the pinion was gone, the wound she gave herself was clear of blood and now a small scar on her palm, and her hand held no signs of being inside an inferno a moment before.

“It is done. Leave the money by the door. And see you tomorrow for tea, Lydia.”

The setting changes from Ter'Ciel to Kirlsa

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Character Portrait: Genevieve Oullet
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“Well, where are they Genevieve?” Lydia was in no mood for small talk and went straight to the point. Her words were sharp and cutting, feeling as if they alone could rip out Genevieve’s throat. Her eyes narrowed into a glare and she waited expectantly for the young witch’s answer.

“If we even knew who we were looking for I could perform a locator spell, but seeing as you have no clue who these people are or how many I may have summoned, your guess is as good as mine.” Genevieve had spent the past few months getting to know everyone in the High Council intimately and learning as many faces, places, and secrets about them as possible. But one still eluded her: How did Lydia even know about these people and what connection did they have to the “future of Tar’Cien” as she had boldly put it months before in her shop?

“I can’t believe I ever thought trusting a street witch would ever result in anything but utter disappointment no matter how rich the bloodline she derives from is. Do something else. We NEED these people brought into the capital.” Lydia lost a bit of her composure. Genevieve had never seen her come so unhinged, and for the first time took the threats that were coming out of her mouth seriously. The candle that sat on the table in the middle of Genevieve’s shop cast a sinister glow upon Lydia’s face.

“Lydia, if there was anything else that could be done, I would do it. I don’t need any problems from you or anyone else on the council. But in lieu of me going to Kirlsa and seeing if I can find them myself, there isn’t much I can do magically without something more concrete.” As soon as the words left her mouth Genevieve instantly regretted them. Lydia looked slyly over to Genevieve.

“Oh, well why didn’t you say so? You leave for Kirlsa in the morning. The Grayson’s arrived there a day prior. When you get there, visit the butler boy of the Grayson’s and work some of your witchy charms on him. He should be able to act as your compass.” Genevieve looked perplexed back at Lydia. The butler boy Devlin? What did he have to do with anything? Was he born in Kirlsa? Was she summoning his family because he was an orphan and no one knows who they were and they pose a threat to the realm? The ideas that flashed through her head were ludicrous to say the least, but they would have to wait.

“I guess I don’t have much of a choice then…I’ll prepare my things.” With that, Lydia turned to leave, but stopped in the doorway to say one last thing before she departed into the night.

“You remember Mr. and Mrs. Feldspar don’t you? Lovely little elderly couple you gave some herbs to treat Mrs. Feldspar’s heart condition last week? Well if you don’t return, you won’t have to worry about refilling her supply ever again. Safe travels Genevieve.” She left, leaving nothing but the feeling a demon was just exorcised from her home, and a sting in Genevieve’s heart, because now this game Lydia is playing was going to get bloody if Genevieve did not play it better.

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Genevieve was dressed as a traveler would. High leather boots, a loose fitting black tunic, some basic jewelry adorned on her wrists, and a pendant around her neck. She had a bag with her filled with some witch oddities: a silver knife, some candles, a pendulum, and some herbs with a mortar and pestle. She was dropped off by a royal steam car a few moments ago and the sun was just hitting its apex, signaling that it was noon. Even with the brightest sunlight, Kirlsa looked drab. It was painted in shades of gray and brown and left no wonder to the imagination. This was a town where the people live here because they were born here and don’t have the means to leave, not a place anyone moves to for work, trade, or pleasure.

Genevieve strode up to the door of the royal housing that the Grayson’s would beinhabiting and knocked on the door. She took a deep breath and waited for someone, most likely Devlin, to answer the door and for this mystery to finally begin to unravel.

The setting changes from Kirlsa to Ter'Ciel

Setting

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Character Portrait: Devlin Íobairt Character Portrait: Laelynn Wyght Character Portrait: Genevieve Oullet
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Genevieve was not prepared for the individual that opened the door. She expected Devlin, or the mayor, or Augustine to open the door, but plain as day in front of her, there was this plain little girl standing in the doorway. Genevieve couldn’t but look at her as if she was the cutest puppy she had ever seen, bordering on patronizing. "Good afternoon. How may I assist you?"

“Oh hello, I’m looking for Lord Augusti—“

“Genevieve! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes! Please come in, come in.” Lord Augustine Grayson pushed past the young girl in the doorway and ushered Genevieve into the small house. For a mayor’s house, there was nothing particularly lavish about it. But it had proper, furnished bed rooms, a dining room and kitchen, which was more than any other home in Kirlsa could boast.

While moving roughly past the dark haired door answerer Genevieve brushed up against her, and immediately her body felt a surge of power course through it. It almost hurt, but Genevieve didn’t let even a wince crack on her smiling face when in the presence of Augustine.

“Augustine I am SO happy to see you. Do you see what that Lydia has reduced me to? Traveling like some mere commoner. The royal car dropped me off so far from the city gates that I tore my dress I was wearing and now I’m resorted to dress like a complete and utter barbarian. Where is that little butler boy of yours? This needs attention straight away.” Genevieve knew exactly how she was going to play this. There was no way that any word of Genevieve’s travel had reached Augustine before she had. Augustine fancied her, and she knew it.

“Oh yes my dear, he’s in the bedroom down the hall, he does rather good work for a servant. But what has brought you he--?”

“Later darling, I simply cannot be seen like this. Is it down here?” Her last question posed to the mayor who may as well have not even been in the room.

“Oh yes my lady, at the end of the hall on your left,” he said as he gestured towards the bedroom.

“Oh thank you, hopefully this won’t take long,” and just like that she left the men and the young girl in the living room while she retreated to the bedroom to see Devlin. The door was locked so Genevieve tapped lightly on the door.

Devlin opened the door, and Genevieve simply pushed past him shouting exclamatorily , “Oh thank GOODNESS, please get to work on this and make it snappy!” She threw the dress at him and shut the door. Genevieve didn’t look to even see if Devlin had started to mend the dress or not, and she didn’t care. Her first task was to make sure there were no eavesdroppers for the next few minutes.

Removing a thicket of sage and ginger root from her bag she put them on the floor in the middle of the room. “Phesmatos incendia.” A small flame flickered to life upon the herbs. “Duade shenari invictus menor.” The flame completely encased the herbs and turned them to ash. Only a small ember was left in the middle of the room. Genevieve removed a candle from her bag and placed the wick over the ember, lighting the candle. With her silencing spell complete no sound could be heard from outside the room as long as the candle continued to burn.

Wasting no time she turned to Devlin, who was obediently sewing the rip in the dress. “Sorry about this Devlin.” Genevieve walked over to Devlin and pushed the needle he was using to mend the dress into his thumb and held it there. She paid no attention to if he screamed or not. “Ce che vous, pro la busque. Ce che vous, pro la busque. Ce che vous, pro la busque. Aducte do mi volum ix ti de.” Magic flowed from Genevieve as she spoke the incantation and the blood flowed back into Devlin’s body, visible on his arm as it traveled through his veins until it reached his brain. The spell Genevieve cast was known as Sight linking. Normally used for family members to see through the eyes of one another, any persons with a spiritual or other type of connection can use it to some degree.

When the spell was completed a few moments later Genevieve let go of him. She panted a little, attempting to regain her composure. “Tell me you see them. Close your eyes and please tell me you can see them!”

The setting changes from Ter'Ciel to Kirlsa

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Character Portrait: Devlin Íobairt Character Portrait: Genevieve Oullet
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Devlin Íobairt


The light knock on his chamber door gave Devlin pause. Was it real? Was he actually hearing someone or was the isolation beginning to take its toll on his psyche? The mayor, Lord Grayson, it honestly didn't matter who was knocking. Devlin couldn't deny the not so subtle leap his heart had taken. With equal parts enthusiasm and hesitation, he opened the door...

“Oh thank GOODNESS! Please get to work on this and make it snappy!”

A flashing glimpse of a woman and then he was blinded.

'Wha...?'

The stranger had thrown something over his head. Instinctively, Devlin reached up, his fingers touching the unmistakable texture of velvet. Pulling the fabric off of him, the boy's eyes adjusted to the room. There, in the center of his bedchamber, she stood. She was petite. Slight but curvaceous, with raven black hair that fell to her waist in shimmering waves. She was rummaging through a satchel she carried and appeared to no longer notice him standing there.

Unsure of what, exactly, he should make of the situation, Devlin assumed she was an associate of the mayor or even Lord Grayson. She did look rather familiar. Without a word, he walked over to his sewing supplies on the table. He threaded a needle and began to work on repairing the torn garment.

In and out, he stitched, sneaking a glimpse of the woman whenever he could. When she withdrew a handful of herbs and a candle from her bag, it hit him;

'The witch lady!'

Of course! He'd seen her at the Grayson estate several times over the past few months. She was a witch. And quite the talented one if rumor were to be believed. Devlin had heard the other, more streetwise servants speak of her, always in hushed tones as if at any moment she could curse the lot of them. He had always been rather skeptical. What the boy saw next, however, chased away every bit of skepticism from his mind...

The woman must have lit the candle somehow. Setting it down, she focused her attention on him. Devlin watched as she made her way over to him, taking his hands in her own. She deftly pressed down on his fingers, which were still holding the sewing needle. A flash of pain shot through his hand and the boy cried out. He tried to pull away but found himself unable to move. His blood ran cold in an instant, veins carrying ice to all extremities of his body. Eyes wide, Devlin watched the woman whisper to him over and over again, though the words failed to reach his ears. Then, just as quickly as it had happened, it was over. She let go of him and the boy's body felt warm once more, as if the incident had never actually happened.

'Wh-what on earth...!?'

Through gasping breaths, the witch spoke. Her words were heavy with urgency...

“Tell me you see them. Close your eyes and please tell me you can see them!”

While Devlin rightfully had a rapidly growing list of questions for this mysterious woman, he found himself unable to form the words to ask any of them. Instead, he did as he was told. It was almost instinctual, how right it felt to close his eyes. And so the boy did as he was commanded...

He was moving. Fast. Blurs of colors and sounds passed him by. But he was staying still...No, it was the world itself that was moving. It moved with knowledge. With purpose. It was guiding him somewhere. Somewhere Devlin knew he should be. Giving himself up to the power, he allowed himself to see what it wanted to show him. Back in his lonely bedchamber, he spoke aloud what his mind saw...

"I see...the ocean. There's a dock...and...people...three people."

The images before him warped and twisted until they formed a new vision.

"A marketplace...here in town...I know...The windmill I saw it from here in my room."

Finally, the vision changed once more. He recognized it right away.

"A foyer...There's the mayor and...and Lord Grayson...!"

And suddenly he was falling. Forward and backward and out of control and -

- he was back in his room. The dark haired woman had an arm around his shoulders.

Devlin's eyes darted around the room. The table. The bed. The window. It was all here...Not moving...No more moving...
He looked up into the woman's face. She had done this. Of that, he was certain. When his breath returned to him, Devlin found the words to speak.

"Wh-what was that...? What did I see?"

The setting changes from Kirlsa to Ter'Ciel

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Character Portrait: Devlin Íobairt Character Portrait: Laelynn Wyght Character Portrait: Genevieve Oullet
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"Wh-what was that...? What did I see?" Devlin stammered. Obviously, he had no idea what Geneveive had just done to him, and even less about his connection to these people. However, Devlin had said just enough that she now had undeniable proof that her original migration spell had worked. Now she just had to think of a way to round these people up.

Finding out who they are should be easy enough. Now that we know of a few locations and with how small this town is, anyone would be able to tell you who the new faces were. Genevieve just doubted that Augustine brought with him enough royal guards to be able to detain and transport these people. And there was still the matter of the young girl in the foyer, who seems to be one of the targets. Genevieve’s head spun with the complexities and importance of the decisions that she now needed to make. Her life, and the lives of the Feldspar’s, depended on what she did next. And so, she devised her next carefully thought out move…and will now put it into action.

“Devlin, I know that you don’t entirely understand what’s going but you’re going to need to trust me. I’m going to go and cause quite a commotion after I leave this room. Most likely Augustine and everyone else is going to vacate the house. You’ll see what I mean. I need you to gather whatever you can to survive, get that young maid girl and sneak out of town. Run, change your names, start a new life. And take this.” Genevieve removed the pendant from around her neck. It was a very powerful talisman her grandmother had spelled for her when she was born, it carried the crest of the Rain Fallers, the coven that Genevieve’s family hailed from. “If you’re ever in danger or don’t know where to go, clutch this pendant as tight as you can and say the phrase phesmatos duindem. The pendant will show you where to go or protect you. But remember that it’s power is not infinite. It will also show proof of your friendship to the Rain Fallers if you ever make it into witch territory in the wind lands to the south. Stay alive, and stay away from the capital.” And with that, Genevieve left the boy in his room. Probably as confused and alone as he was from before she entered.

As she entered the living room Genevieve calmed herself with a deep breath before her greatest acting to date would take center stage. “Augustine!” Genevieve shrilled at the top of her lungs. She sounded as if she was going to be murdered at any moment.

“Genevieve what is it? What’s wrong!?” The man called back, equally alarmed.

“I have seen them. They are here. My powers of divination cannot be any more precise. The spirits are churning today and they have shown me….a windmill….a dock…..the ocean…..and the marketplace! We must act quickly! Gather your guard and round them up! They are here!”

“Guards! You heard her, search the city starting in those areas our great witch has divined from the beyond and capture the enemies of the High Council of Airyglyph!” The small platoon of guards let out a cry and left the mayor’s house to begin their search. The mayor followed them out, with Augustine in tow. As all of these men stampeded out of the house Genevieve looked over her shoulder down the hallway to where Devlin was, the door still shut. She then turned to the young girl she had seen before.

“Be safe, huh? Trust him. He’ll know what to do.” And Genevieve left her following after the gaggle of morons she had so easily manipulated.

The setting changes from Ter'Ciel to Kirlsa

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Character Portrait: Devlin Íobairt Character Portrait: Laelynn Wyght Character Portrait: Genevieve Oullet
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There were few times in her life that left Laelynn utterly confused. Preferring to stay in the background and avoid any form of confrontation meant she was very observant and often knew what was going on around her. Now, however, was one of those times where she had absolutely no clue what was happening. The woman before her hadn't even finished her sentence before Lord Augustine pushed past her, ushering the woman in. It was almost as if she wasn't even there, with the way both of them brushed past her without paying her any mind. Who was Lydia? If this woman, Genevieve, was royalty (which would explain why her clothes clashed so much with her face), why was she traveling alone?

None of these questions even came close to being answered, as Genevieve was soon rushing off, and Lord Augustine was certainly not going to provide any answers. Of course, Laelynn was okay with that- he didn't seem like the most friendly individual. Closing the door (which had been left open in the woman's haste) Laelynn simply waited for a moment for something else to happen, or to be given some direction. After a moment, Lord Greyson turned to her.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Prepare her some food and drink! She just had a rough journey!"

Laelynn jumped slightly, still surprised from the sudden commotion. "O-oh, yes! My apologies!" She scurried off, glad to be out of his presence. She hadn't done more than get a dish and glass out before a shrill voice screamed from down the hall.

Now what was going on?! Genevieve was a witch? There were enemies of Airyglyph around? What would people who were clearly wanted be doing in this tiny village, of all places? Hiding? But why hide somewhere they could easily be picked out from the natives of the village? She had left Selene to avoid criminals, she didn't want to end up where there were more!

She began to panic as the guards cried out and stormed out of the house. She didn't like this. She didn't like this at all. The last time she encountered a criminal, it nearly resulted in her death. Granted, she couldn't remember much of it- she had passed out at some point and was awoken to a guard making sure she was okay. The feeling, however, was still there, ingrained into her just as strongly as the time she had discovered she herself was capable of harm.

Before she got too caught up in her panic, however, Genevieve- the witch- turned to her.

"Be safe, huh? Trust him. He'll know what to do."

What? Trust who? Devlin? What does he know? That quiet boy, is he in on this too? She hadn't gotten the opportunity to do more than introduce herself and serve him meals, but she supposed now he would be her only source of answers. She watched as the woman swept through the room and out the door.

What was happening?

Confused and overwhelmed, Laelynn wandered down the hall, settling into a corner to gain some composure.

Don't panic. Don't panic. It will be okay. Just breathe. The guards will take care of whatever is wrong. Airyglyph guards. In Kirlsa. Yes, surely they can keep everyone safe. They are highly trained. It will be okay.

"...Devlin?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kai Seward Character Portrait: Caedes Risus Character Portrait: Devlin Íobairt Character Portrait: Mackenzie Truko Character Portrait: Laelynn Wyght Character Portrait: Celsia Vorrine Character Portrait: Genevieve Oullet Character Portrait: Maren LeChance
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Things…spiraled out of control rather quickly. Guards scattered, people began to shuffle about the town, and men and women donning cloaks began to descend upon the small town of Kirlsa. It was difficult to describe the sight that Genevieve was viewing within the town. It became both more lively and more cryptically empty at the same time. It was clear activity was taking place, the townsfolk retreating to their homes, shops beginning to close up, but this overwhelming darkness began to sweep over the dusty roads, and Genevieve did not like it.

Augusto looked over to the young witch, beckoning to her. “Come with me my lady, I believe the gathering is nearly complete. You should witness the fruit of your labors.” Augusto spoke with an otherworldly arrogance that was not of his regular show of ignorance. She was slightly unnerved to follow him towards the windmill, but in the role she was playing, she had no choice.
“Of course my lord, I would be happy to accompany you. To where are we going?”

“To the windmill darling, we have a stronghold there and that is where we will complete our work.” She didn’t like the way her used to the word “we.” It didn’t feel like he was using the word to refer to the High Council of Airyglyph, but a more personal, intimate group of…”we.”

As she followed Augusto into the base of the windmill, to find the captives that he had taken, she realized just how much of her original plan was falling apart. In the dark hole that was the subterranean lair of Augusto and his group of followers, she saw all of the people that she had summoned with her spell months before. They varied from looks of panic, fear, determination, and indignation. She saw the young maid and Devlin, obviously failing to get out of the city.

As commotion and yelling between parties was commencing, Genevieve blocked it out and got to work. She removed her family’s grimoire from her bag and began to search through for the spell she needed. She didn’t want to see the death of these people, and she was going to have to work quickly to stop it. First, she needed to link together the group so that whatever happened to one, happened to all. Also, she needed to use Devlin’s power and her own to begin to the process of reawakening the gods. At least, she hoped that her hunches were correct and that her family’s grimoire was pointing her to the right conclusion about the young lives that were now so precariously hanging in the balance.

It was just as she saw Devlin about to plunge a dagger into the young girl’s chest that she found what she needed, “Motis!” With a blast of pure force the man let go of Devlin’s hand and flew against the nearby wall, slumping to the ground unconscious.

“What is the meaning of this Genevieve?!” Augusto spat at her.

“I’m sorry my lord, but I cannot let them die so soon. At Lydia’s request I need to complete a final spell to make sure they are the ones we seek…and that their powers are not yet awakened,” Genevieve lied. She wanted to try and give as much information to the group of young captives she could, so that maybe they would understand that she was on their side, at least for the moment.

“Lydia always did like to be thorough…fine, but make it quick,” Augusto said.

Genevieve worked at a frenzied speed. She set up candles throughout the room, drew blood once again from Devlin’s hand and her own, and took a strand of hair from each captive. Sitting in the middle of the room she muddled together all of the ingredients in her mortar and placed it in front of the candle.

In a low voice, she began chanting, “O ni om naha, ma pharenu , o ni om naha, ma pharenu…” She continued to chant, power welling up inside the room slowly, winds picking up around them, howling to life as she continued to chant, louder and louder over the screech of the winds in the cave, flames from the candles licking the walls, blood beginning to run down the nose of Genevieve, the spell taking a very heavy physical toll on her body. Chaos was completely erupting from within the small room, and her spell was taking effect. Genevieve was casting a spell that linked together the reincarnations of the former gods, Devlin, and herself. Genevieve acted as the conduit for power, Devlin as the key to which it traveled through, and the gods as the recipients of the power. But, she was missing one critical ingredient to the spell that even she did not know, and thus was casting magic that was rather unstable and taking a much harsher toll on her body than she would have imagined.

Waves of energy crashed over everyone in the room, and she could not hold on to the spell any longer, and with one final scream of her incantations, she collapsed unconscious, blood freely flowing from her nose, eyes, and mouth, and weakened beyond all recognition.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hans Amsel Character Portrait: Kai Seward Character Portrait: Caedes Risus Character Portrait: Devlin Íobairt Character Portrait: Mackenzie Truko Character Portrait: Laelynn Wyght Character Portrait: Celsia Vorrine Character Portrait: Genevieve Oullet Character Portrait: Maren LeChance
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"Kill her!"

Laelynn watched the scene play out before her in horror. It all felt so surreal, and yet, she knew it was very real. All around her were prisoners- herself included. They had been gathered up to this slaughterhouse for reasons she couldn't begin to figure out. Devlin was being forced to kill the girl they had just met, the girl who had tried to help them escape. As Laelynn saw the dagger rise up into the air, her entire body froze.

Glass Shattering.

Screams.

Blood.

The overhead lights glinting off of the knife as he turned to face her next.


The screams from the room mixed with the screams in her head as past and present melded together. Somebody yelled something. A body flew back, slamming into a wall. She knew this scenario all too well. It was just like that time.

What time?

That's why she had wanted to leave her city. So many lives lost, because of a single person, years ago. Was it years ago? What had caused it? Why hadn't she remembered until this point? Though, she hadn't ever truly forgotten. If she had, it wouldn't be coming back to her now. The memories that were buried were pushing their way up, forcing through the barriers that had kept them down since the incident- the barriers that had kept her safe.

An uncontrollable fear welled up inside of her. Death was hovering just outside the room, waiting to reap. How many would die was uncertain, but lives would certainly be lost tonight. Those who didn't kill would be killed.

A woman began to chant something. Laelynn's eyes were fixated on her. She recognized the woman's face, though could not place who it was. The chants got louder, but were gradually got drown out as the winds picked up and the world around Laelynn grew dark, something heavy pressing on her senses. Soon, the only thing she could see was the face of the woman, blood pouring from every crevice.

'Destroy.'

The ground around her feet began to split. A line shot out, running along the ground and up a wall. The sound of cracking rocks echoed through the room as an unseen force tore up the walls. Wood splintered as it continued to the floor above. Genevieve collapsed. Panicked voices began to rise up amongst the noise. (Was there any other noise?) An uncontrollable power surged through the room, threatening to engulf them all. Dust and debris fell from overhead.

The windmill was going to collapse.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hans Amsel Character Portrait: Kai Seward Character Portrait: Caedes Risus Character Portrait: Devlin Íobairt Character Portrait: Mackenzie Truko Character Portrait: Laelynn Wyght Character Portrait: Celsia Vorrine Character Portrait: Genevieve Oullet Character Portrait: Maren LeChance
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Iron, stone and building pressure, Mackenzie took in everything as it occurred. The prophecy of her death gave her expression a hardened look, but little else changed in her stance. The little slip of a girl showed spirit, but the timing was wrong. The witch’s distraction held more promise, drawing more gazes away from her and her companion as she began her ritual. She glanced at the others, counting captives and captors with disappointing results. She might be able to make it to the doorway, but hauling Little Miss Fancypants through was not going to be easy, let alone getting any of the other captives out. She knew she wasn’t responsible for any of them really, even the lady from the tavern, but she wasn’t the type to run from a fight when help was needed.

The energy filling the room did not go unnoticed either. Whatever the witch was doing, it seemed like this would be her chance. She gripped the handle of her wrench more firmly, the familiar sensation of metal against skin strangely more intense, as if she could feel the entire length of the tool and all its parts. For a moment it seemed a shame to use such a solidly wrought tool as a weapon, yet she knew more deeply than ever the endurance forged within the iron.

Blood dripped from the witch’s face and she started to slip downward. Mackenzie surged, erupting from stillness just as the ground split. An arcing swing connected, reshaping the skull of the nearest hooded figure in a way that could not be recovered. The earth moved, a shudder racing through the foundations of the mill. Glass shattered, solid beams groaned under the strain. Gaining a firm grasp on Hans’ arm with her free hand, she swung again, letting momentum pull the girl to safety as the next guard crumpled.

When the timbers gave way, they appeared as a flash, visible yet not throughout the entire structure. Having already shifted her momentum, the strangeness of this did not stop the ironworker in her path. Another swing brought another strike, this one meeting the delicate steel of a dagger drawn in defense. The guards were rousing themselves, struck by the confusion but scrambling to defend. The dainty weapon and the fingers that grasped it gave way, only managing to redirect the blow to the man’s ribs and send him flying. Another flash from the structure, another groan of wood, this time alarming Mackenzie in a way she could not yet identify. Shoving Hans roughly away from her in the direction of escape, the two separated just as a pile of debris rained down onto the spot they had just stood. How she had recognized the instability would come down at that moment was unclear, but now was not the time to mull it over.

“GO!” she barked, a swift order of a woman accustomed to making herself heard, ordering Hans to seek safety as she went for the next nearest captive, pulling a short utility blade to cut the redhead loose – the more free hands the better. The mill was falling around them, but she knew there was a chance to help at least some of the others to safety.

The setting changes from Kirlsa to Ter'Ciel

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender Character Portrait: Hans Amsel Character Portrait: Kai Seward Character Portrait: Caedes Risus Character Portrait: Devlin Íobairt Character Portrait: Mackenzie Truko Character Portrait: Laelynn Wyght Character Portrait: Celsia Vorrine Character Portrait: Genevieve Oullet Character Portrait: Maren LeChance
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#, as written by Celsium
She squeezed her eyes shut as the boy before her raised his blade high- but no harm came to her. With a powerful shove by an unknown force, the cloaked assailant in front of her was slammed into the wall. She whipped her head towards a dark-haired woman and felt herself become faint upon seeing her face. Was it because she, too, was familiar? No, it was something more than that. Some type of power radiated about her. A witch?

Celsia complied and offered her hair to the mysterious dark lady. It wasn't like she could say no- after all, the woman had just prevented her untimely death. Watching in a trance, the woman began to chant incantations, stronger and louder with each word. The air in the room felt thick, and heavy, as if they were underwater. And yet the air began to swirl and rush by with great force.
It was hard to breathe. Like an intense and powerful heat wave, something in the air was overpowering. Celsia looked up to face her friend, but instead a raging storm at sea crashed at her feet.

What is happening?! She looked up into the clouds and the sky opened up like a canvas, hosting blurry visions and images. They flashed by her eyes one after another- some places she had never been to- some faces she had seen before. She looked back down. Perched atop scorched earth, a great chasm had torn through the earth and there was no sign of life anywhere. Where am I?!
The world around her began to spin uncontrollably, the wind blowing around like a raging tornado, the visions swirling before her. There was grass beneath her feet- snow- cobblestone-- she couldn't keep up. Trapped in a torrent reverie, she thought she could hear someone scream one last incantation.
The ground stopped shifting, the world stopped spinning. Celsia closed her eyes and fell away with her visions into the darkness.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hans Amsel Character Portrait: Kai Seward Character Portrait: Caedes Risus Character Portrait: Devlin Íobairt Character Portrait: Mackenzie Truko Character Portrait: Laelynn Wyght Character Portrait: Celsia Vorrine Character Portrait: Genevieve Oullet Character Portrait: Maren LeChance
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The mans eyes were frantic, looking for an opening, looking for anything that he could use to try and help Cel out of the dire situation. Only one thing came to mind, while everyone watched the boy with the blade, Cae's hand went to his sword. He inched slightly as the boy fought with himself, clearly not wanting to do stab Celsia, but from what Cae could tell, starting to lose himself to the will of Grayson. 'Sorry kid.. nothing personal.' He thought to himself as he readied himself to slash through the guard that was guiding Devlin's hand, and cut off Devlin's hand if needed. Right as he took his breath, a woman yelled out a foreign word, and there was a sudden blast of energy. With the confusion, Cae fixed himself, trying to not look too obvious, but he was just as curious as the rest of the group was. What had just happened.

A witch? Here? Just what he would have liked the least to be there, was someone using magic. While Cae had some run ins with wannabe mages or witches, he had never really experienced a spell up close like this, a shudder vibrated through his spine. He couldn't even see the spell, so how was he going to fight a witch and manage to get out. His mind was a race, his eyes scanning around constantly, but always finding a moment to look back and make sure Cel was alright.

As the witch spoke, Cae started to get a feeling from her. It was almost as if she was stalling.. And she surely was giving out a lot more information than anyone else had since entering here.. Was she trying to save them? 'Woah. Hey there.' He thought for a moment as the witch came and plucked one of his hairs. His eyes gave her a glance over, despite her attire, she had a figure, and he couldn't help take notice. Shaking his head clear for a moment, he noticed Cel had been released, so that the witch could retrieve a lock of hair from her as well. 'I hate magic...' He thought again before his eyes widened at what he was witnessing. He could feel a strange energy churning around him, the hair on his body standing on end as his instincts to run went crazy. The floor vibrated, the cave they were in shook, he could feel it all, he could sense the disaster incoming. This was no place to be with this much energy going rampant. He made a move to get to Cel as all eyes were on the witch. Except for the larger, more built woman that had come in ahead of him. He glanced over at the familiar sound of a head being caved in by a blunt tool. His grin that had been lost since Cel's capture had returned. 'Looks like the party is starting.'

As he took his steps towards Celsia and Grayson, Cae felt some weird pressure on his head, but he didnt think anything of it. All that was on his mind was grabbing Cel and getting out of this cave before it collapsed. All this energy was freaking him out for some reason, but he took deep breaths, remaining cool and collected. A guard that had turned from the magic faced him, looking up slightly, just above Cae's head, his brows furrowed in confusion, but Cae didn't question it. In a swift horizontal motion, Cae cut him open then moved to the next, each one, for some reason looking up, above his head. He didn't have time to look around to see what was going on. Everything was clear around him. He could hear every breath in the room, he could smell the scent of blood pouring from the victims of the wrench and his own blade, the scent of fear as the cultists were slowly realizing what was going on. His eyes were sharp. While the pirate had been known for his good vision before, this was to the next level. Every little detail could be seen. Every movement, he could see, process, and react to, it was like he was an animal going for the kill. Nothing was going to escape him. Unknown to him, he had infact grown a pair of black furred, canine like ears from the top of his head, and his eyes had shifted from their normal deep red, to a bright, vibrant yellow.

As he got closer, the cultists backed away, afraid of the demon walking before them. Despite Grayson's commands to attack, they started to mostly ignore the pirate with glowing yellow eyes, pushing each other back to get away. "Smart choice. Guess you recognize the Silver Fang finally. " The scarred face smirked as he made his way to Cel, who thankfully had stepped a few wobbly feet closer to the witch, and luckily away from Grayson. Before he could get to her, she started to collapse. "CEL!" He yelled, jumping to her while putting his sword away, catching her in his arms before she could hit the dirt. She was unconcious, the magic must have done something to her. Or maybe the shock of almost being a sacrifice... oh well, she was safe now. Shifting her onto his back, he hunched over a bit and wrapped her arms around him, both his hands supporting the small girls legs. He knew she was light, but for some reason, she felt lighter than normal, like he was stronger. Maybe it was all the adrenaline kicking in, but it felt like she was nothing.

Next were the two kids, Devlin and the black haired girl. From the sound of it, the larger woman was helping out one of the other prisoners, so they should be ok. And most of the cultists were trying to leave as well. "Hey, kid!" He looked down at the two, not sure what was going on with the black haired girl, but she looked like she was having a panic attack. "Dev. Snap out of it. Get her out of her. COME ON KID! Be a man and help me get these two out of here." They didn't have time to stand there trying to comfort everyone, and they were now becoming more separated from the other group of prisoners from collapsing ceilings and walls spliting open. His head turned back to Devlin. "If you don't hurry up, I'm leaving without you." He spoke rather harshly, but he needed the boy to snap out of it and move.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Caedes Risus Character Portrait: Devlin Íobairt Character Portrait: Laelynn Wyght Character Portrait: Celsia Vorrine Character Portrait: Genevieve Oullet
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Devlin Íobairt


'I...I was going to kill her...'

The phrase reverberated in his head over and over. He knew he was powerless. He knew that another hand was guiding his own. But nothing seemed to justify the cold fact that he, himself, had been mere seconds away from taking an innocent life.

Devlin stared into the distance, eyes cloudy and vacant.

Why? Why did Lord Grayson forcing him to do that? These people trapped down here...they didn't appear to be dangerous or evil. And if his master truly did want them dead, he had an entire group of people who were apparently under his command down here with him. It made no sense for the horrific deed to fall upon the shoulders of a young servant.

The witch lady had returned, stopping him from killing the girl. She spoke to Lord Grayson, convincing him she needed more time for...something. Devlin didn't know. His senses took in the sights and sounds of the room, but everything failed to reach his consciousness. He was numb. Lost in his own labyrinth of shock and guilt.

She was performing some kind of ritual, it seemed. The air in the room became heavy and it was difficult to breathe. Devlin wasn't sure if it was due to whatever spell the witch was casting, or if it was all in his own mind...the image of the cowering girl and the dagger in his hand the only thing he could truly see in great detail.

Frantic incantation. An unseen wave crashing against him. And then the ground beneath him began to tremble. All around him was panic. The people in cloaks were scrambling about and Devlin could hear the faint sounds of fighting from somewhere behind him.

"Hey, kid!"

More yelling. Was the windmill collapsing? Was that the cause of all the commotion?

"Dev, snap out of it! Get her out of here. COME ON, KID!"

Someone shoved past Devlin, knocking him to his hands and knees. He looked up, eyes wide as he saw the man with the silver hair, Cae was it? He had been the one yelling to him. Devlin saw him carrying the girl from earlier. The one he'd almost...

'No! I...'

The boy was ripped from his guilt by a strange sight...

It was Cae. His eyes were shining a bright yellow, illuminated even more intensely in the darkness of the cellar. And above them...on top of his head... Ears? They were furry, like a dog's. Perked up as if they were listening intently.

'H-how on...?'

"If you don't hurry up I'm leaving without you!"

Cae was right. Devlin needed to move. A pair of dog's ears wasn't even the strangest thing that had happened tonight. But if he were to give up, if he were to surrender and die here tonight, then he would never get the answers that his heart yearned for. He mustered the strength to speak...

"A-all right!"

Devlin turned toward the girl with the dark hair. She was panicked, staring off into nothingness just as he was moments ago. Her eyes were filled with horror.

Gently, he took hold of her shoulders.

"Hey. Hey! Please! It's okay. We're going to be okay if we can just get out of here. Don't be afraid."

The girl didn't respond. He could feel her body trembling, almost radiating with energy and emotion. All around them the foundation collapsed. Support beams cracked as if hit with a sledgehammer. Glass shattered and dirt fell from above. But the area around them was untouched.

Devlin hugged the girl tightly, arms wrapping around her slight frame. He laid his chin on her shoulder and spoke to her.

"Please...don't be afraid. We're all right. We're going to be all right. Everyone is together now and we'll be fine. Please...we have to go now."

He wasn't entirely sure what he'd meant by 'everyone is together now.' Perhaps it was merely the fact that they had all been dragged into this madness. Whatever the reason, the words flowed from Devlin because they just felt right. In the collapsing darkness of this hell they found themselves in, it was a welcomed miracle that finally something somehow felt right.

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Character Portrait: Genevieve Oullet Character Portrait: Maren LeChance
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Maren LeChance


'Gimme a break here!'

Maren rolled to the side as a large wooden beam came crashing down upon the spot he'd just been sitting. Sawdust and dirt clouded the room upon impact as the entire structure seemed to be collapsing. He stumbled, trying to get to his feet, but with his hands still tied behind his back, it was next to impossible to get sure footing as the very ground below was trembling. Maren felt his knees buckle and he fell back to the floor.

It seemed that the entire universe was determined that he should die tonight. Again, he shifted his weight and tried to stand...

'I promise, Gods, I won't have anything to do with girls anymore. I won't drink. I won't go out. I'll become a monk and serve you guys for the rest of my peaceful life. Just pleeeeaaaase get me the hell outta here!'

He looked up, squinting through the chaos, to see the rest of the captives making their way to the exit.

"H-hey! Hey! What about me!? You guys - Oof!"

He was pushed to he knees once more by one of the cloaked lackeys. They all seemed to be in a panic. Clearly they hadn't accounted for a sudden earthquake to ruin their plans. A really, really well timed earthquake at that. Maybe the Gods were looking out for him...

It was then, as Maren was trying to get to his feet once more, that he saw her.

'Hey...isn't that?'

The witch from earlier. She had performed some kind of complicated spell. But for what purpose? Maren wasn't sure. But whatever it was, it must have been powerful, because the chick was out cold. A tiny trickle of blood was still running from her nose.

He had seen a few women who had called themselves witches, back in the city. Really, they weren't much more than overpriced prostitutes with a few parlor tricks up their sleeves. But this woman was different. Maren had felt the energy in the room become charged when she spoke her mumbo jumbo. He'd actually felt the impact of a...[/i]something[/i] when she'd finished her incantation.

All around her, people clamored as the structure continued to fall. Did they not see her? Was everyone really so selfish that they didn't care about her anymore? He wondered if, perhaps now that she'd served her purpose, that this cult or whatever might be done with her?

She was beautiful, that was for sure. Even covered in a layer of dust and dirt and with blood on her face. Strands of dark hair fell across her features and Maren's eyes couldn't help but follow the curves of her figure despite the current crisis at hand. He had to help her. Had to get her out of here. It was bad enough leaving someone to die down here. But a gorgeous and dangerous woman? Hell no! Not today.

Classic one-track mind in full force, Maren got to his knees, scooting over to the unconscious beauty.

"Hey! Hey, lady, can you hear me!? C'mon, get up!"

He nudged her, only to have the woman roll limply to the side. No good. He was going to have to carry her out himself. But he couldn't do anything with his hands still tied.

Another surge of power hit the building and more of the structure began to break apart. He could hear the anguished cries of those unlucky enough to get caught under the falling wreckage. Time was quickly running out. Frantic eyes scanned the room for something, anything that could help.

Crrrrrrack!!

Another support beam hit the ground mere feet away, the once sturdy wood splintering on impact. Just then, Maren was hit by a flash of inspiration.

'In a time of destruction, create something.'

The words echoed in his head. Words he'd often spoke to himself over the years. It was a personal motto, of sorts. One that served as a reminder to use his creativity and ingenuity - traits that had always come easy to the young man, to get him out of life's trouble spots. And this was one hell of a trouble spot.

It clicked in an instant. Maren slid toward the support beam, kicking in the weakened area with the heel of his boot. Another kick. And another. With every hit, the wood cracked and splintered until, finally, it looked jagged enough to be usable.

Turning around, he backed up into it, rubbing the coarse rope that bound his wrists against the sharpened wood. Maren rocked back and forth in a sawing motion until he felt the liberating snap of the rope breaking. Instantly, the pressure on his wrists was relieved. Shaking the feeling back into his hands, Maren jumped to his feet.

From what he could see, the path to the obvious exit was all but blocked off by debris. If they were going to escape now, they would have to find another way out. Returning to the unconscious woman, he wrapped his arms around her and picked her up. Thankfully, she was rather petite and easy to carry. Not like this one girl he'd met outside a tavern once in Davonshire. Big Bertha, the guys had called her. She'd had too much to drink one night and he'd had to carry her back -

Boom!

The ground shook as another large support beam fell. Nope. It was definitely time to go. Young woman in his arms, Maren made his way toward the back of the large room. He thought he'd seen the group's ringleader retreat this way into the shadows when the chaos began to erupt. Sure enough, there was another way out. A darkened path that seemed to lead away from the main part of the building. A back exit, perhaps?

The odds were good enough for Maren. Readjusting his grip on the woman (and keeping his hand on her bottom for just a second too long) he began his descent into the passage, creating his own destiny with each step.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender Character Portrait: Kai Seward Character Portrait: Devlin Íobairt Character Portrait: Celsia Vorrine Character Portrait: Genevieve Oullet Character Portrait: Maren LeChance
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"I'll tell you now I'm the one to survive
You'll never break my faith or my stride"


Kai Seward


Things couldn't get any more bizarre. There were now several more people in the room, presumably also dragged here by the cloaked individuals. There were no noticeable similarities among them- the prisoners ranged from a man who had clearly seen his share of battles to a rather frail looking girl. Some of them looked terrified, others were keeping their cools and waiting for the right moment to make a move. There was no indication of why they might have all been gathered there. At least until the presumed leader finally spoke, announcing that they were all to die.

Kai tensed, ready to fight back. He was at a great disadvantage, but there was no way he was going to die here, not in this place, not to some psychos who apparently had nothing better to do with their lives. Whatever was going on, he was going to get out of there.

The first one to make a move, strangely enough, was the most frail-looking girl there. Not surprisingly, she was quickly apprehended, giving the cultists another advantage over the rest of them. Kai wasn't exactly the one to let innocent people die, but if it came to kill or be killed, he'd have to put his own well-being over the girl's.

As the man, apparently known as Grayson, ordered a young boy to kill her, Kai glanced around, searching for an opening. Would it cause enough of a distraction for him to break free? He was still flanked by two of the cultists, but maybe they would be so busy watching this unfold that he could overpower them...

Before anybody was able to make a move, however, something was shouted and a man went flying into a wall. This was followed by a rather beautiful dark-haired woman collecting strands of hair from everybody and setting up what seemed to be a totally different ritual than what Grayson had in mind.

Okay, so things could get more bizarre. But surely nothing could top this, right?

As the woman continued her ritual, some unknown force began to well up inside of the room. While he still had absolutely no clue what was going on, something told him this would be their chance to make an escape. The energy picked up as the woman continued to chant, louder and louder, the spell taking a heavy toll on her body. As she collapsed, the ground began to shake. An earthquake? The guards holding him were beginning to panic, conflicted about whether or not to keep their grip on him or save themselves. Taking advantage of their confusion, Kai headbutt one of them in the nose. As he stumbled back, the girl's grip weakened, allowing him to shove her away. The tremors grew in strength, and a large crack echoed throughout the room as a support beam broke. Now was the time to leave.

The man who had been holding his sword dropped it on the ground as he ran to escape. Kai ran toward it before realizing he was still bound. With a heavy, frustrated sigh, he dropped to his knees to reach his sword, grasping the hilt between his hands. Unfortunately, there was no way to use it to cut himself free- not with the place collapsing. He wouldn't have had time to prop it up so that he would have access to the sharp edge, and he didn't want to risk spending any more time in a collapsing windmill basement.

He made his way back to the entrance, narrowly avoiding being knocked out by a falling beam as he crossed the threshold to the staircase. He hobbled up the stairs, sword clanking on each step as it dragged behind him. He couldn't help but think how stupid he must look as he ascended, thankful that everyone was too panicked to really pay any attention to him.

The cool night air welcomed him as he ran out of the windmill. Kai caught up to the others, who had briefly stopped a short distance from the windmill.

"Well, now what?" He asked, glancing from a small-gray haired boy to the tall man with...wolf ears? Whatever, he would question that later. For now, he just needed to know how to get out of here.

"Through our strength, we'll make a better day
Tomorrow, we shall never surrender"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Genevieve Oullet Character Portrait: Maren LeChance Character Portrait: Lera Dothen
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#, as written by Celsium
Lera glanced down at her worn map for the hundredth time. Where is this stupid town, I should be there already.... She continued to stroll through the woods, whistling a tune to herself, her heavy jewelry clanking together with each step.

The overgrown path led Lera to a posted intersection of the road, with 3 signs on it. She squinted to read the old words aiming in the direction of her travels.
'KIRLSA'.

"Uh..." She pulled out the map again. "What?" Looking between the post and the map, she let out a loud groan. Kirlsa. To the south....

"I went the wrong way....." Lera scrunched her nose in a pout and stuffed the map back into her pocket. The sun was setting so it wouldn't do to go all the way back now. I might as well just go there for the night. Maybe they'll have something interesting to do in town. Her boots loudly clunked along as she continued her journey.

----------------------------------------


Still on a winter's night they say,

when the wind is in the trees

when the moon is a ghostly galleon

tossed upon the cloudy seas--


Lera's loud voice echoed through the quiet woods. Barely seeing the path in front of her, she still marched on ahead without hesitation. Her boisterous entrance probably spooked any dangerous animals, so she had nothing to worry about.

The road was a ribbon of moonlight

and over the purple moor...


Lera paused as she felt a strange energy building around her, wrapping itself between the thick foliage and winding about her body. Her arms started to quiver.

"Huh..?" She lifted her hands to inspect them, when suddenly a powerful gust of wind forced itself from her hands.

"Ahhh~! What the fu-" Facing her hands away from herself, the forceful gale whipped around the forest, nearly tearing the leaves off of the trees. The deafening roar of wind tore through the silence so suddenly, as if a tornado made contact where she stood. Her metal bangles clashed together violently like bad wind chimes.

"Stop stop stop st--" The gust ceased seemingly as quickly as it began, leaving Lera frazzled. Her hair flew in disarray and parts of the woods around her now lay bare, the smaller shrubs being torn up and blown away. "Oh, Gods...." She lifted a shaky hand to her mouth. "...That was SO COOL!" She laughed to herself loudly, stomping her feet in excitement. Waving her arms around, she grinned. "Do it again! Ah!"

Her gleeful moment was cut short as a loud boom and flash of light in the distance caught her attention. Was that a firework?! Kirlsa must be close by! And so cool! She picked up the pace, leaving the crime scene behind her.

----------------

Lera pushed herself through the dense shrubbery and out into the moonlight. Kirlsa lay before her, with the sea just behind it. She couldn't quite hear what they were so excited about, but hearing the townspeople yelling and running about surely meant there was something fun going on in the town!

While casually making her way into the town, Lera made note of some interesting looking people running towards the docks. Ooooh, does Kirlsa have a troupe here too?! Before she could make her way to follow them and ask, her gaze was caught on a red-haired man on the ground. Hmmm.. She noted the destroyed windmill. Uh oh......maybe something happened with the performance... With all the best intentions in mind, Lera ran over to the man.


"I'm so sorry I missed the show! Are you guys okay?"